Poets Express Winter


Poetry by

Jan Oskar Hansen

 

YESTERYEAR'S SUMMER

 

Rusty, padlocked gate, trees in the big garden need

trimming, on a swing, two rusty chains, it lacks

a seat. Autumn and there are apples unpicked on

the ground, fine rain has fallen, drops drips from

trees and glint on tall grass. Soon winter storms

will come rattle the gate and the derelict house-

unlit- will have to shoulder nature’s irate violence.



If you close your eyes and listen, can you not hear

laughter and see a child sitting on the swing?

Ice-tea and lemonade anyone? July 1956, no one

knew this was their last, a family was about to be

overtaken by life; ruin and scandals, “got what they

deserved,” the hateful said. The child, on the swing

disappears in the mist rolling in from the sea.

 

INTERMEZZO
 

 

Night in the city, streetlamps too far apart, shadows

between them hinder contact. A cat, is it black,

crosses the street and disappear into a yard,

it’s seen by a sewer rat that waits for thrown away

food to eat outside the burger bar. A lackluster

breeze blows waste paper about, then stops rolls

itself into a ball and goes to sleep under the span of

a bridge. Two hours sleep, and it will be a morning

breeze. The cat, is it black, has fooled the long tailed,

it only to feigned disappearance to lure the rodent

into the open; short struggle, a shudder oscillate

between shadow and light, come to rest as a sigh;

motherless baby rats will be food for bigger ones

as night continues its travel towards a new day.

 

THE MIND'S LANDSCAPE

 

Collector of dry roses, that's what you are,
in the mirror of tricks, your smile is of derision.
Seeker of the barren land where black goats
eat thorny roses.
 
Laughed they did when slewed the soil refused
to drink their life. a pool of darkening ruby
on yellow straws and angry glares of troll's
blue eye.   
 
Dweller, go back into your cave, contorted
you're in the mirror of life, rimfrost on green grass
you're breath's an angst ridden screams of fear
as life passes you by.

 

Jan Oskar Hansen is a Norwegian poet living in Portugal. His work appears in several anthologies, magazines andon the net. He has also published several collections, of This “Letters from Portugal” Be-write books and “La Strada”(lapwing Belfast) still in print. 8 of his poems have recently been translated into French by Mgv 2_59 en ligne, whichis a French English site. Hansen’s poems have also appreaerd in “Hudson Review” and Skyline Magazine.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jan_Oskar_Hansen